Chapter 2

10 years later

"You're doing better, Princess."

Sir Caelum sounded less confident than I would have liked as he surveyed the frost I'd just spread over a section of forest. Two of his fellow trainers stood beside me, their expressions tinged with worry.

Familiar worry.

I wasn't doing better. I was the same. Always the same.

Sir Caelum turned from the trees. "Perhaps a bit more practice," he said, his boots crunching in the snow as he headed up the path toward me.

One of the other trainers made a soft, negative sound. When I looked at him, he suddenly became interested in a patch of ground near his feet. Pink touched his cheekbones as he gripped the hilt of his sword. The trainer next to him, a knight who'd served in the Winter Guard for a century, glanced at me and then avoided my gaze.

Anxiety prickled down my spine. I couldn't fault their skepticism. The frost was too thin. I wasn't making progress. Most elves mastered their element around their eighteenth year. I was three years past that milestone, and my abilities had grown stagnant. I couldn't afford to be stagnant—or anything less than perfect.

Sir Caelum flicked a long lock of honey-blond hair over his shoulder as he stopped before me. "The frost spread evenly, Your Highness. Well done."

I shook my head. "It's too thin." Even from a distance, I could see rivulets of moisture making tiny tracks down the branches. "The sun will melt it within the hour."

"Then we'll return later and try again."

"Not today," a deep voice called out.

I whirled, a smile springing to my lips as Ronan strode from the castle perched on the hill above us. He'd been away for two weeks, tending to his estate. Or at least that was the story he wanted everyone to believe.

As always, he wore head-to-toe black, from his fur-lined mantle to his tall leather boots. His close-fitting jacket fell to the middle of his thighs. His hair was loose around his shoulders except for a few braids that held it away from his face. The hilt of Summerbane peeked from the folds of his mantle, which flowed around his legs.

Sir Caelum and the other trainers bowed at his approach. Ronan nodded to them as he stopped before me.

"Princess," he murmured.

I dipped a shallow curtsy, giving him the same honor I would have shown my father. "I bid you good morning, Glesso. The servants said you returned late last night. I hope your journey to Tur Dorna was fruitful."

"It was pleasant enough." Ronan made a show of gazing at the forest behind me, a perplexed expression touching his features. "Strange, though… This looks nothing like the Great Hall." He focused on me, and the perplexity fell away. "Which is where I told the servants to have you meet me this morning."

I turned to Sir Caelum. "Thank you, sir, for the instruction. That will be all for today."

Recognizing his dismissal—and, undoubtedly, the thread of displeasure in Ronan's tone—Sir Caelum placed a hand over his heart and offered me a short bow. "It was my honor, Your Highness." With respectful nods toward Ronan, he and the other trainers walked swiftly toward the castle.

I watched them go. When I was certain they were out of earshot, I turned to Ronan and let my own displeasure color my voice. "I don't like it when you reprimand me in front of the knights."

"Don't make me search the whole castle for you while a dozen suitors wait to make your acquaintance."

"The suitors are at least an hour away," I said. "They're unlikely to reach the castle before noon."

Ronan's brows lifted, and a surge of triumph shot through me. It was rare to see him surprised. I'd have to make it happen more often.

He stepped toward me. "How do you know this?"

I had to tip my head back to meet his gaze, but I held my ground. Retreat is only an option if you've exhausted all the others. It was one of the first lessons he'd taught me. But he'd also taught me to lie only when I was certain I wouldn't get caught.

And right now, I was caught.

"I made a deal with the border guards," I said, referencing the knights who patrolled Winter's boundaries. "I gave them an extra week's worth of coin to send runners to the castle. They've been monitoring the roads and reporting back to me since last week."

For a moment, Ronan's face was unreadable. Then his lips twitched, and my sense of triumph blossomed into relief. It spread through me like a warm current, relaxing my shoulders and loosening my limbs. The tension between us ebbed, fleeing as swiftly as it had arrived.

I spread my hands. "I would have asked your permission, but you were away."

Quick as lightning, he captured one of my hands and tucked it in the crook of his elbow. "Don't push your luck, brat," he said, steering me toward the trees. When I ducked my head to hide my smile, he sighed. "A word of advice. The next time you bribe the guards, make them uphold their end of the bargain before you pay up."

My skirts brushed his legs as we followed the path. "I will."

He looked at me, and when I turned my gaze to his, I found affection waiting in his eyes. "I don't doubt it," he said softly.

The warmth spread faster, its heat as bright and sparkling as the sunlight playing over the snow drifts that lined the path. For some reason, earning his approval always felt better after I'd provoked his anger. I wasn't certain when the pattern had started, but it was well-established now. I displeased him, we argued, and then I figured out a way to sneak back into his good graces. Over time, it had become something of a game. The angrier he got, the bigger the challenge to win him over again.

Lately, those challenges had arisen more and more often. And I didn't have to guess when it had started. With each round of suitors I sent away, new tensions crackled between us. Ronan was determined to see me wed, and I was even more determined to make sure it didn't happen—at least not until after I was crowned queen. It didn't matter which suitors showed up today. Undoubtedly, each one would be wealthier and more powerful than the last. But I had no interest in hearing their offers.

As Ronan and I moved down the path, I bit my tongue against the urge to tell him his matchmaking efforts were wasted. It would only ruin our truce. Besides, hearing suitors' offers was different from accepting them. When my would-be husbands arrived, I'd plaster a smile on my face, greet them with every courtesy, and send them away. Then Ronan and I would go another round of him being furious and me dissolving his anger.

He'd forgive me. He always did.

He peered at me now, a hint of suspicion entering his gaze. "What are you thinking about?"

I leaned on his arm. "Just that we don't do this enough. You used to walk with me in the garden after my morning lessons. Do you remember?"

"We're both busy," he said, returning his gaze to the trees ahead of us. "And you haven't taken morning lessons since you were a child."

I faced him as we stopped at the edge of the forest. "That's true. I'm not a child anymore."

A beat passed. Then Ronan inclined his head. He moved past me, his boots crunching over dead leaves and scattered snow as he entered the woods and surveyed the frost-covered branches. After a moment, he pulled a lower branch toward him. A lock of hair slipped over his shoulder as he rubbed a thumb down the frost, which quickly melted and dripped onto the forest floor.

The anxiety I'd felt with Sir Caelum returned. "I didn't sleep well last night. I lost focus when I cast the frost."

He released the branch and turned back to me. "Why was your sleep disturbed?"

I tilted my head. "You once told me only fools pretend ignorance."

Slush from the melting frost clung to his boots as he made his way from the trees. When he reached me, he gave me an impassive look. "Are you calling me a fool, or are you trying to bait me into a disagreement over your suitors?"

"Which suitors, Glesso? You've invited so many, you'll have to be more specific."

"Ah, it's the latter, then." He palmed my shoulder and turned me toward the trees. "I refuse to be baited, brat. Cast the frost again."

Irritation prickled over my skin. "I've already tried once today, and I'm tired. A second attempt will be less successful than the first."

Ronan stepped back and folded his arms, taking the heat of his hand with him. "It's fortunate our ancestors weren't tired a thousand years ago when they established the Covenant and created Ishulum to save us from the human Incursion."

A sigh built in my chest. How could I respond to that? I couldn't, and he knew it. Gaze on the forest, I raised my arm, my palm parallel to the forest floor.

"Feel the ground under your feet," Ronan said. "The ice is just beneath the surface. Do you sense it?"

"Sensing it has never been the problem," I muttered.

Undeterred, he moved behind me. "You're tense. Relax your elbow." His chest brushed my shoulder as he repositioned me, raising my arm a fraction of an inch higher and then placing his palm under my outstretched hand. He'd done the same throughout my childhood, showing me how to wield winter as a weapon. How to shape ice into javelins. How to cast a blanket of frost cold enough to disable an elf or kill a human.

But as he'd said, Ronan was often busy. Over the years, he'd handed me off to servants and trainers whenever duty called him away from court. As I got older, he was gone for longer periods, his absences stretching into weeks instead of days. By the time I entered my teen years, he'd turned my magical education over to the trainers entirely. Still, I'd sought him out whenever I could.

Memories stirred, an image of him sitting by the window in his chamber rising in my mind. Moonlight had spilled over him, turning his hair silver as he bent over the book in his lap. A cold fire had blazed in the hearth, the blue flames throwing shadows on the walls. Ronan had looked up the second I opened the door.

"What is it, Liria?"He'd frowned as he glanced at the corridor behind me. "Why aren't you in bed? Are you ill?"

"No."I closed the door and crossed the room, only to stop short when his expression darkened. "I just…" When his frown stayed firmly in place, I hid my hands in the folds of my nightdress. "The servants said you returned from Tur Dorna hours ago. You didn't come to me. I thought we might talk like we always do after you've been away." And he was away more often than he used to be. He claimed he needed to check on matters at home, but none of the other lords at court visited their estates as frequently as Ronan.

He rose, tall and no less intimidating in the casual clothes he wore in the evenings. His voice was hard as he said, "We'll talk in the morning. Go to your room."

Confusion and hurt swirled in my chest. "Can't we talk now?" I offered a tentative smile. "No one will hear us."

"Enough, Liria!"

The unexpected rebuke bounced off the walls, making me jump as I bit back a gasp. The fire leapt higher as if it responded to his anger. My heart raced as I stared at Ronan and tried to understand what I'd done to offend him.

He faced the window, his long white hair streaming down his back. He turned his head, but not enough to meet my eyes. When he spoke at last, his voice was almost too low to hear. "Forgive me. I'm fatigued from the road. Seek your bed, and we'll speak in the morning."

Still trembling, I'd obeyed. Cyra had descended upon me the moment I entered my room.

"Gods, Princess, you gave me a fright wandering off like that! I was ready to summon the guards."She'd snatched a throw from the bed and draped it around my shoulders. "You shouldn't walk the halls without a robe, Your Highness. That nightdress is transparent."

"You're still too tense," Ronan said, jerking me from the past. "Slow your heart rate." He continued holding my hand aloft, and now he angled his body so his chest brushed my elbow and his breath tickled my cheek. The tattoos around his wrist were still thicker than mine. As far as I knew, the dreadraven on his back was unchanged. He hadn't practiced in the yard with his men in months. Cyra and the other ladies frequently bemoaned the loss of entertainment.

My heart thumped against my ribs. I stared so hard at the trees that the trunks blurred and slid together. "I've got it from here."

"Slow your heart," Ronan insisted.

"You're distracting me."

"You should get accustomed to distraction. Do you think battlefields are quiet places? Our kingdom is peaceful now, but a time may come when we need to defend it, just as our forebears did."

Something within me bristled. Winter wasn't our kingdom. It was my father's—and one day, it would be mine, not Ronan's.

But he keeps the cold,a little voice reminded me. He'd done it since I was a child. Because I couldn't.

Determination surged through me. My forbears had protected Winter for a thousand years. The frost would never fail. I wouldn't let it. And one day, I would take the scepter and accept Winter's blessing.

The trees came into sharp focus. I drew a slow, even breath, letting the icy air fill my lungs.

"The power over ice and snow is your birthright," Ronan said.

I know.

"Pull the frost from the ground. Let it flow up your legs and into your hand."

Magic hummed in the air, lifting the fine hairs on my nape.

"Do you feel it?" Ronan murmured.

"Yes," I said, excitement pumping through my veins. The magic swelled, gossamer threads caressing my skin. They multiplied, building and building until my hair lifted away from my body and the ground rumbled under my feet. Cold rushed up my legs and into my chest. So much power. For a moment, I savored it, letting the icy ribbons lick around my heart. Then I pushed it forward. At once, it flowed down my arm and formed into a ball of icy blue fire. It crackled and danced, a wild, concentrated force ready to leap at my command. Beautiful. Mesmerizing.

Magical.

Ronan was right. I'd been born to wield the elements of winter. The ball of flame shivered. Ronan adjusted his stance. The slight movement adjusted his arm, too, exposing his wrist.

My breath caught.

His tattoos blazed the same icy blue as the fire. His fire, not mine. Where my hand met my sleeve, the edge of a delicate tattoo was pale and flat. Dormant.

"Frost the trees," Ronan said in my ear. Before I could respond, he pulled my arm back and then flung it forward. The blue fire streaked from my hand, struck a tree trunk, and burst into a wall of blinding blue light. Magic split the air, the sound like fabric being ripped down the middle. In an instant, a thick layer of frost coated the trees. Ice encased each leaf. The sunlight sparkled over the frozen forest. It was flawless. Perfect.

And it was all Ronan's doing.

I snatched my arm from his grip and strode a few paces away. I kept my back to him, a hot, shaky feeling settling in my chest as I loosened the laces of my sleeve enough to expose my tattoos. The swirling glyphs that climbed up my forearm were a ghostly white, with no trace of blue.

Ronan's stare was a weight between my shoulder blades. "You're angry about the frost."

I jerked my sleeve down. "You were supposed to help me, not cast it yourself."

"You felt the flow of magic. Repeat that process enough, and you'll eventually learn to do it on your own."

"I already know how to do it," I snapped, hearing the churlishness in my voice. But for one moment, I'd believed I summoned the frost. That perhaps Sir Caelum was right and I was improving. But no, I was the same. Always the same. Relying on borrowed magic to keep my people safe.

Years of frustration rushed into my throat, which started to burn. I gathered my skirts and stalked toward the path.

"Liria!" Ronan caught up to me in two strides and pulled me to a halt. His fingers circled my upper arm. Tightness around his mouth betrayed his anger. "How dare you walk away from me?"

"You tricked me."

"You said you were tired. I won't push you when you're already drained. We have a long day ahead of us."

I tugged against his grip and got nowhere. "That's your doing. You know I don't welcome it."

His smile was quick and humorless. "So now we come to the true source of your anger. You aren't even going to pretend to consider any of these men today, are you?"

"I told you I didn't want to meet them—or any other suitors, for that matter. I've said it for three years now. Maybe one day you'll listen." I tugged harder, but I might as well have attempted to lift the castle. Ronan's swordsman's grip was uncompromising. He held me effortlessly, which only served to stoke the flames of my anger higher. "Let go of me."

"You are your father's heir. You don't get to pick and choose which duties to honor."

"Auctioning myself to the highest bidder like a prize piglet isn't one of my duties."

"Yes," he said flatly, "it is."

I stopped trying to free myself so I could glare up at him. "And if I were a man? What would my duty be, then?"

"The very same. Every king—and queen—needs an heir, as does every nobleman. We are stewards of our wealth and privilege. It's our duty to pass it on."

"As you've done?" I pretended to look around, mimicking the way he'd gazed over the forest when he first approached me. "I don't see a wife. You can speak to me about duty when you stop being a hypocrite—" My words ended in a gasp as he jerked me close.

And a perverse little thrill ran through me when, at last, his anger leaked into his eyes, turning his glacial irises a deeper blue.

"If you want to be queen, start acting like it." His voice was soft, as it always was when he was truly furious. It lifted the fine hairs on my body as it slid to a near-whisper. "Good sovereigns listen to counsel. They accept the truth, even when they don't want to hear it. So here is the truth, Liria. Your magic isn't strong enough for you to keep the cold on your own. You need a powerful consort."

"That's what you believe," I fired back. "My father's line has endured for ten centuries. House Ilymaris has ruled since our people created the Covenant and withdrew from Andulum. We are the only kings of Winter Ishulum has ever known. I'm twenty-one. I just need more time?—"

"Haluven could die tomorrow. Tonight. We don't have time. Winter may very well give you its blessing, but who will frost the trees? Will you watch your people die because you're too proud to pick a husband? You've rejected two-thirds of the eligible lords and alienated most of the noble houses." His eyes glinted. "You question my commitment to duty? Who do you think cleans up the mess when you spurn a suitor? Lately, my sole duty consists of salvaging the alliances you seem determined to shatter."

Disbelief joined my outrage. It thrust me onto my toes, putting me close enough to Ronan to see my reflection in his eyes. "A good sovereign also calls out lies when she sees them. What do you know of my suitors? You're never here." His nostrils flared, but I plowed on. "Tell me, how are you shoring up our alliances when you spend all your time crossing the Covenant?"

Suddenly, his fingers bit into both of my upper arms. He dragged me against him, his eyes colder than the snow around us. "What do you know of that?"

"I followed you," I gasped. "Years ago…a-and several times since. You never go to Tur Dorna like you claim. Always, you ride straight to the Covenant and cross into Nordlinga." I winced as his fingers tightened.

He eased his grip immediately, but he didn't release me. A line formed between his brows. "How long have you been following me?"

Memories of him harshly ordering me from his room rose in my mind. "Since I was sixteen." Stung by his dismissal and curious why he visited his estate so often, I'd trailed him the next time he left for home. Except he hadn't taken the road to Tur Dorna. Instead, he turned his horse in the opposite direction. A half-hour later, the Covenant had shimmered like a beacon—and a warning. Magic didn't thrive on the other side. That was part of the bargain my people made with the humans when we created a separate realm and left Andulum behind. We retained our magic as long as we remained in Ishulum. But the moment we crossed the Covenant, we were powerless.

The first time I'd watched Ronan stride to the boundary and step into its light, it was obvious he'd done it before.

"Sixteen?" he said, shock and anger flaring in his eyes. "You've done this for five years and said nothing? Why didn't you ask me about it?"

"It didn't seem like any of my business?—"

"But spying on me was acceptable?"

"I didn't spy."

"Why didn't you ask me about the Covenant, Liria? And don't lie to me."

"Fine. I knew you would forbid me to follow if I told you. And I didn't need to ask about it. I already know why you cross."

His gaze flicked to my mouth. Abruptly, he released me and stepped back. He jerked his jacket down, and some of his icy reserve slipped over his features. "Is that so? Enlighten me."

The ache from his grip faded rapidly, but the tension between us remained. I glanced at Summerbane's hilt on his hip. "You seek revenge for your father's murder. So you break the Covenant and hunt the men who killed him. But it's been ninety years. Those humans are all dead, yet you continue to enter Nordlinga. That means you're hunting their sons. And if those sons have sons, you're hunting them, too." For a moment I was eleven years old in my father's apartments with the sparkle of the Old Language rushing over my skin. "I believe you vowed to make your father's killers nameless. You swore to end their lines and wipe all trace of them from memory, and now you can't stop until you fulfill your oath."

He studied me. And to anyone else, his expression would have been unreadable. But I'd stood before him countless times over the years, weathering his regard as I struggled not to squirm—usually because I'd skipped a lesson or fallen afoul of his rules. I saw the slight easing of tension…and maybe a glimmer of respect.

"You sound sure of yourself," he said.

"Do you deny it?" My heart pounded, but not from fear. Ronan would never hurt me. Challenge arced in the scant space between us. I held my breath as I waited for him to admit what I'd long suspected.

A muscle jumped in his jaw. "You speak of things you can't possibly understand."

Not a denial.

I lifted my chin. "I understand well enough. My father isn't dead, but I've lost him all the same. My mother, too. They were lost to me long before my brother died."

Ronan's lips parted.

"You told me to act like a queen," I said. "To accept the truth. Well, here is the truth, Ronan. You are the Sword of the North." I gestured to the frost-covered trees. "I need you here, not in Nordlinga. You put yourself at risk every time you cross the Covenant and shed your magic. The humans hate us. You've hunted them for ninety years. I can only imagine how much they would love to kill you, just as they killed Sylvar. And I can't… I couldn't—" I clamped my mouth shut.

Ronan had startled when I used his given name. We stared at each other, the tension between us twisting into something raw and tremulous. It crackled in the air, daring us to acknowledge it.

He swung away, breaking the spell. Gaze on the frost-coated ground, he rested one hand on his sword hilt. "My vow is nearly finished."

A sinking feeling spread through me. I swallowed hard. "How can you tell?"

"I feel it. I spoke the vow in the Old Language, and its magic binds me. With each kill I make, the bonds grow weaker. Two descendants remain. With their deaths, the men who killed my father will have no one left to carry on their names."

"And if either of those men has a child? What then?"

He looked at me. "Then my vow will continue."

"You would kill a child?"

"I have the advantage of time. I can wait."

Before I could respond, footsteps drew our attention. Cyra came down the path, her skirts gathered in her hands to keep them from dragging in the snow. Her rich brown hair was arranged in intricate braids that showed off her graceful neck and delicate jawline. Her sigils, elegant white wrens, showed above the edge of her bodice. Curiosity sparked in her blue eyes as she looked from me to Ronan. When she reached us, she offered a deep curtsy.

"Your Highness. Lord Ronan."

Ronan inclined his head. "Lady Cyra."

"The watch spotted a contingent of nobles approaching from the south, my lord. They were flying the colors of House Velador."

Ronan looked at me. "It appears at least one of your suitors will arrive before noon."

"How fortunate," I said.

Just like that, we came full circle, challenge springing between us once again. But now, the raw, crackling quality accompanied it. Although, if I was honest with myself, it had been there for a long time.

"Go on," Ronan told me. "I'll be along shortly." The look in his eyes promised our discussion was far from over.

I dipped a knee. "Glesso."

"Princess," he said.

Cyra and I started up the path.